Night Over Derlaven
by GwennieBlack
Summary: One was born during the night. One was born during the day. One was to become a heir since he was born, and the other must learn to control her powers. They had been raised together within the castle walls, but it was only a matter of time before Fate decided to separate their ways. If they ever meet again, will there be place for forgiveness, or will the desire for vengeance win?
1. The Summer and the Winter

_Hello! This isn't the first fanfiction I've written. I used to publish fanfictions in Spanish. But now I'd rather write 'em in English. It's ten times more stylish, I suppose.  
However, I hope you like it! If you find mistakes —which you probably will— please tell me, I'd like to correct them. English is not my mother language, although I've been told I speak it very well.  
You can also read this story in my DeviantArt account: look for GwennieBlack.  
I'd very much appreciate feedback, if you don't mind! Thanks in advance (: I hope you enjoy it!_

**Night Over Derlaven**

**Chapter one: **_**The Summer and the Winter**_

"Show me something!"

"I can't do anything yet, my Lord, I'm afraid."

"Oh, c'mon! You must know how to do _something_. Can't you even burst a flower into flames?"

"No, my Lord" Gweneth answered, laughing at the prince's eagerness for seeing some magic, standing up and looking for more Remsedels(*) on the ground. "I can't do anything. I'm sorry."

"Oh" Trenton finally accepted the reality, disenchantedly. "When will you be able to do some magic?"

"Magic isn't something you can count, my Lord" Gweneth replied calmly, kneeling to pick up Remsedels off the ground and to keep them in her basket. "You do magic, you don't do _some_ magic. You either do it or you don't, just like that."

"Fine, I understand. So when will you be able to _do_ magic, then?" Trenton asked again, lying on the grass, emphasizing the word 'do' jokingly, picking Remsedels as well.

"My mom tells me she'll teach me when I'm older, when I can control my powers. Magic is very powerful for a little girl like me, and I must wait."

"Would you be harmed if she taught you how to do magic right now?"

"Yes, and everyone around me. I don't want to hurt anyone" Gweneth replied, watching a Remsedel with fixed eyes. Those were her favourites. They were as red as blood.

"And...when will you be old enough?"

"Around thirty-six new moons(**)" the girl replied, standing up and keeping the flower in the basket.

"Ow, that's an awful lot of time. I can't wait that long."

"My mother is the King's arcane adviser, my Lord" she faced him to answer his complaints. "When thirty-six new moons have passed, I will be in this field picking up Remsedels for my mother's ointments, learning from nature, and you will be up in that tower, studying maps and learning war skills. Lyane will run and talk, and Dinehqa will say farewell to the Kingdom to join a brother one. The Queen will have given birth to more brothers and sisters of yours, and you will be growing up to become the heir. And when you're in that tower, you will look down through the window and see this servant of yours picking up Remsedels."

"You're very good at words, Gweneth, but still thirty-six moons is quite a long time" Trenton complained, getting up from the ground and following Gweneth.

"But we can't do anything but wait, can we."

"Time goes on slowly, but it goes on. It does never stop, my Lord" she answered peacefully, looking at the flowers on the ground, "so consider you're one bit of time closer to watch my magic. Though…"

"Though what?" Trenton asked, walking by her side.

"Though maybe, you won't want to see magic by then. When thirty-six moons have passed you will be older, and you'll be interested in other things, such as war, and women. And you'll be starting to think about the future of the realm, and your commitment to it. Perhaps you won't want me to show you my magic."

"I have never seen magic in my life, I wouldn't miss the opportunity of witnessing a spell for the world!" the prince answered zestily.

"Time shall say, my Lord."

"My name is Trenton, Gweneth."

"Yes it is, Trenton, my Lord."

Trenton and Gweneth had been born in different seasons, but the same year. She was a winter-born girl: a little sage, sensible-to-the-bone girl, who would usually think things through logically, but still had place in her heart for pretty things of life which couldn't be enjoyed by the mind but by the senses and the spirit. Still, she was cautious, not the kind of girl who would accept the prince's request to roll down the hill on a boring day. And even though she wasn't cold with everyone, she couldn't trust anybody without examining them in detail.

Gweneth was just like a frozen pond: you can figure out what's beneath it, but you get only a blurry impression of it. But if you melt it, you get to see clearly what is underneath.

And if you shattered it, you could see what's underneath as well.

Gweneth was tough as ice, a bit cold on the outside, sweet and refreshing on the inside. Her mother was the only one who knew this all too well, as she was the only one Gweneth trusted entirely, mindlessly. But as icy as she was, Gweneth was also very weak. Her feelings were the weak point of her being. Sadness, humiliation, loneliness; things which killed her. Things which could shatter her icy, easily-breakable surface.

Just like ice, she only seemed to be strong and tough on the outside, but the reality was a different one. The good thing was that, just like ice, just like everything that's cold, people usually stayed away from her. Not that she would do something for this to happen, it just...happened. For Gweneth, who was skeptic by nature, this was a great advantage —less people to build barriers for. But it had its downside. Sometimes, being ice could be a little...lonely, and being lonely wasn't all that nice, not at all.

Instead, Trenton had been born during the summer, under the sunlight. He was warm, like the sun. Always happy, always brightening everyone's day just by looking at him. He always had a smile or a kind word for whoever needed it, or a word of encouragement, or a hug. Trenton was everyone's friend, and people seemed to like him. Of course, being part of the royalty, some people liked him for his nobility rather than for his personality. Trenton was sometimes aware of this, as his father always warned him to be cautious when choosing the people he wanted to have around; but then he would always forget this warning, as he was naturally kind and innocent. He could never tell if he was being flattered on purpose, or if people were offering him a true friendship.

Nothing bad can ever happen in summer: it's warm, so people don't die of frostbites, or hunger, or freezing to death, or under the flu. The weather was more than pleasant and vegetables were juicier and growing stronger, more colourful; the livestock was fatter and increasing its numbers. Days were longer and nights were shorter. There was always time to play, to chat with neighbors, and the worry of working or else you could starve during the winter if you hadn't enough food was a concern they left behind. Just like summer, Trenton was innocent and unaware of the dangers of the world. He lived to play and trusted everything and everyone in Derlaven(***). In his mind, there was no place for evil. Such thing could not be on the lands of Derlaven, where everyone was always willing to help like his father the King had always helped whenever someone needed it, without asking something in return.

Another curious fact, as if the seasonal contrast between both children wasn't coincidence enough, was that Trenton had been born during the day. By sunset, everyone in the King's village was entering the castle, which had opened its doors to celebrate the birth of the new prince, the second kid and first son of the King Maettes the Merciful, no other than the heir to Derlaven himself. Gweneth was by then only five moons old, still a baby in her mother's arms, sleeping peacefully as the ceremony was taking place and people talked all over the place, screamed in joy, and the band played joyfully for the Gods to bless the newborn. Despite all of that, Gweneth was sleeping. Gweneth, the one who had been born during the longest of the nights, in plain mid-winter, "the night-born" her mother liked to call her. Gweneth was very much like the night, somehow. Mysterious. No one could ever decipher what was going on in that head of hers, as she was shy, silent...deep, as the immensity of the sky and the stars.

Time would say if she grew up to be as beautiful as the heavenly bodies up there. Like the moon watching over the kingdom in the night she was born, the little Gwen was as pale as a daisy, and her eyes were darker than coal. Her facial features were sharp and well defined: her cheekbones stand out under that soft, tight pale skin. Her lips were colourless, in fact, her whole face was almost completely white, the whitest there was.

Both lived in the castle. Gweneth's mother was the King's arcane adviser, a sorceress who advised him on magical matters. She shared her knowledge with the king, telling him her point of view and often acting in representation of the Sorcerers' Sect and its interests. The arcane adviser had to have a great knowledge of all types of magic, and yet be strong to resist the temptations of the dark, hidden ones. Had to be quiet, thoughtful, had to own a superior intelligence, which is a characteristic shared amongst mages by nature. An arcane adviser should always look for the ways of the peace and the seek for new knowledge, should be of a pure spirit. All characteristics Gweneth's mother, Maleth, possesed.

Gweneth and Maleth lived in the servants' wing of the castle, in the first floor. Their life wasn't as fancy as it is expected from someone who lives in a castle, as they were only servants of the King; but they were in a good position. They had two comfortable beds to sleep on, and pillows, and blankets which kept them warm during the coldest nights: this was much more than the average citizen of Derlaven could ask for. And they shared great meals with the castle's service, so they hadn't ever been hungry. Well, not Gweneth; Maleth still remembered her years as a little girl from the downtown, sleeping on a dull couch, eating meat only from now and then. She lived in a particularly poor section of the village where no one expected to see a sorceress being born, let alone get to be the one and only one arcane adviser. Maleth made sure Gweneth knew how grateful she ought to be for having a pillow to rest her head on and a blanket to cover herself with, and a bowl of soup before every meal.

Gweneth knew the disgraces of this world, in a way Trenton, always playing with his wooden chariots, always riding white, shimmering horses, always having fun, could never know.

Both kids kept walking home, walking side by side. In a way both were almost like brothers, since they had been born almost at the same time of the year, and they had grown up together within the walls of Derlaven's Castle. Gweneth had been taught and fed and cherished for the servants as an equal to Trenton. They had shared many hours playing together, learning to talk and to walk together: the prince, and the daughter of the arcane adviser.

The summer and the winter.

(*) Remsedels: a red flower which is used to make healing potions.

(**)Thirty-six moons: three years. In my tale, time is counted taking the full moon as reference.

(***) Derlaven: the name of the kingdom where the story takes place.

_So I'd really appreciate if you could take some time to tell me what you think of this. Please?_

_Thanks a lot for reading!_


	2. Thirty-six Moons

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Tom McGillis and Jennifer Pertsch._

**Chapter two: **_**Thirty-six moons**_

The sun was shining bright over Derlaven, it was a clear morning. The Rains of Klam had long gone away, and another moon had gone as well. Though it wasn't necessary to count anymore, now. For this was the thirty-sixth time the new moon rose to reign the night over Derlaven, Trenton had counted them well.

"No son of mine will become a star-reader" the King said to Trenton, smiling, resting a hand on his shoulder, catching him off guard while he was looking at the moon above, in the light-blue sky, as the sunset slowly died in the horizon. "Let alone my heir. You are to become the King, Trenton. Don't waste time looking up to the sky, leave that for those who are to study the stars. You are to lead troops, and to watch over Derlaven's citizens."

"I know, Father, I won't read the stars. I have no interest in them" Trenton answered reassuringly, standing up from his desk, standing straight in front of his father. Both bowed their heads. "Good morning, Father."

"Good morning son of mine. So, tell me. Why do I, then, keep seeing you look out of your window? At night and during the morning, at all hours of the day. It's something to worry about."

"It's a completely different reason, Father."

"You must tell me about it, son. Are you keeping secrets from me? Your teacher, your King and your Father?"

"No, Father, I would never keep secrets from you. It's just not a big deal" the son said, looking straight into his father's eyes, like the King demanded people to do when talking to him.

"My son is constantly looking out of the windows, diverting his attention from the lectures and lessons. It is a big deal" the King said with a serious look on his face.

Ashamed of this behavior, Trevor lowered his head and answered: "I'm sorry Father. I swear I have no other interest than learning what you want me to learn. Looking outside is nothing but a distraction when I feel overwhelmed."

The King looked at his son with his wise, old grey eyes. 'He's not a soldier, not a warrior, Donovan', a voice in his head convinced him, 'he's just a little boy…'

"Oh, for God's sake, look at you. You're still a summer-born lad, dammit, son."

Donovan was tall and big-boned. Despite his age, he looked younger than he actually was. The years of training and battling to defend his lands had paid him well: he was still strong and full of energy for at least two last great fights. He stood in front of his son like a big monument of himself, a glorious, impeccable portrait of the Great King of Derlaven, an image he had wrought during twenty years of serving his people. Citizens all across Derlaven praised the Almighty One, thanking him for the years of peace Donovan had brought since he became the Ruler, the Watcher and the Judge of the kingdom.

Unlike his father, Donovan, the third of his name, knew when to swing the sword and when to use his ability for speeches. Many wars had been avoided thanks to his soft and merciful spirit, always looking for peace where there couldn't be. Donovan was not only a wise man, but also kind and humble. He cared about every derlavenian. He had sworn to protect them all, and Donovan promised to himself, back when he was seventeen years old and occupied his father's place after his fateful demise in battle, that he would live up to that oath. And he did.

Donovan knew soon enough Trenton would have to sit on his throne. Although he considered he was healthier than most of the men of his age, he couldn't ignore the facts: some aches had started to bother him some time ago, and activities he used to enjoy such as hunting and riding were rather tedious than pleasant, lately. Putting his pride aside, the King knew that within the years Trenton would have to take his place, for the sake of the realm.

But damn, he was just a boy. He hadn't even started to grow up…his body and his face were still the body and the face of a thirteen-year-old boy, who would soon start to show some resemblance to the young man his father used to be: tall, slim but well-built, slightly-tanned gold skin, the same chin and notorious jaw, so typical of the Gregoirs. The only difference between Trenton and Donovan were the eyes. Trenton had his mother's eyes: green and bright as an emerald. They were his personal mark, his most remarkable feature: Trenton's eyes were ones into which you could willingly get lost. As for the thick, messy, nape-length raven-black hair falling over his eyes, that's something he took after his father.

"Sometimes I wonder if I might be pushing too hard on you, Trent. When I was your age, the pressure of becoming the heir was constantly bugging me" the King apologized, sitting on his son's bed, staring at the vacuum. Trenton stood still in front of him, still looking down, feeling ashamed of getting distracted. "You must forgive me, for sometimes I forget how it was like to be young and having a life ahead…" the King said to his son, placing his hand on his shoulder again. Trenton lifted his head to look at his father. "You should enjoy your life, while you can."

"Studying is my duty and my commitment to the Realm goes far beyond…"

"Hush now, Trenton. I admire your roughness and your responsibility…I raised you well. Perhaps too well" the King spoke in a whisper, huskily. "But follow my advice: be Trenton Gregoir before the time comes for you to become the Prince of Derlaven. You may not understand this now, but I beg you to remember these words."

Trent just stood there, looking at his father. How would he manage to be as great as he was? He wasn't the right one…he didn't feel he was worthy of the throne. If Dinehqa hadn't been born a girl, she'd be the right one to rule the kingdom, he thought. She was severe when she must be severe and sympathetic when sympathy was required. Besides, when they were little, he recalled, his sister's favourite game was to point different cities and villages on the map, pointing out their names, their lords, their main families and sometimes, the goods they produced and facts about their history. She was very bright, and very savvy. And although she could be very bossy at times, Trent admitted that was exactly what Kings and Queens are made of, something he didn't have: the ability of convincing people to do what he suggested.

Being the heir was very scary…but that could wait. The Sorcerers' Sect's Initiation Ritual was that night, and nothing could wash away Trent's enthusiasm for such event.

"There'll be plenty of time for your mind to think of wars to come. Let me get in charge of that for now."

"Thank you, Father" Trenton replied, fetching a book from the library and keeping it under his arm, "but I promise I shan't neglect my lessons, or forget who I am. Trenton Gregoir, the summer-born prince, Heir to Derlaven."

"You make me proud, son" the King smiled at the boy, looking at his young face through his aged eyes. The boy who was starting to thrive, looking a little less like a child every day that went by; consuming everything around him with those curious eyes, keeping everything in, in the shape of wisdom. There was no doubt for Donovan that Gregoirs' reign of peace would hold for another fifty years under his command. And all of the sudden, his soul was at ease, knowing his son was the best son there could be. "Go under the light of the Lord". The King disappeared through the door, and Trenton waited until he walked out of his view. Then, he rushed to the window, and looked down. His bedroom in the tower faced the outer walls of the castle, and beyond he could see the main square. Like every Day of the Lord, the square was crowded with people, but amongst them, there was one very recognisable blue gown, in the market section.

She was unmistakable.

"Good morning, m'lady."

"I'm no lady, my Lord" Gweneth answered, keeping the flask she had just bought in the weary cane basket.

"Shut it, Gwen. And my name is Trent, you may recall" the boy insisted.

"Yes it is, Trenton, my Lord" she replied standing up, taking off her hood, revealing her face.

Both smiled at each other.

"I've counted them. The moons" Trenton said, hands in the back, walking by her side as Gwen looked at the products the merchants offered, sometimes stopping by to take a closer look. "Are you nervous?"

"Very, my Lord…"

"I'm Trenton!"

"…I'll finally join the Sorcerers' Sect. I've been waiting all my life for this moment. But still, I have the feeling something's going to turn out wrong. I…can't help having this bad presage."

"It's only a bad feeling" Trent reassured her, "it must be normal amongst mages. Has your mother told you anything about today?"

"No, members of the sect aren't supposed to reveal anything about the ceremony" she explained calmly, as she understood it was very reasonable. "As much as I'm dying to know how it'll be, I know I must know nothing. That way, I'll react naturally when I'm faced to the test I must overcome. If I knew what these were about, I'd have gone prepared, and the idea of noticing the true nature of the mage that is being examined would be spoiled."

"Let me see if I got this straight" Trent replied behind her, as she paid a merchant for a bouquet of white, long sildets, "they will tell you to do something, and you must know how to react and what to do at that very moment. Is this how it works?"

"Exactly, my Lord."

"If you call me 'my Lord' one more time, Gwen, I swear I will have your head cut by the butcher."

Gwen turned around with her eyes wide open in dread and disappointment, and took a step backwards. She seemed…terrified, by what Trent had just said. He looked at her, surprise by that reaction. She was supposed to laugh…

"You…you wouldn't…"

"…well of course I wouldn't, Gwen, I was just joking! Really, I'm sorry, I didn't know I…sorry for scaring you, I didn't mean…I mean, who'd be cruel enough to do that to anyone…" the prince apologized, trying to make up for the uncomfortable situation he had created.

"Many people would, Trent" Gwen replied, concerned, but at ease now, looking at the prince's eyes with a hint of sadness. "People in your position over all."

She was paler now than ever, and didn't dare to look at him, not unlocking her eyes from the ground. Speaking in low, almost inaudible voice which seemed to break at the end of the sentence she rushed to speak, she said "I must go now."

Gwen left the market, striding away from Trent, leaving him feeling guilty. He couldn't have known a joke would affect her so badly…but still, it did. He had hurt his friend. It felt like a betrayal to him, and he needed to fix that…

'This was supposed to be a special day for her and I ruined it', the boy thought bitterly as he tried to find the way to make it up to her for that awful joke.

Trenton had been raised in the castle, a safe place protected by the walls. His perspective of life was very different from the reality beyond these walls: he had heard lords and dukes and even his own father —and sometimes his guardsmen, while taking a break of their job, in the courtyard— say that joke: 'I'll have your head cut off if you disobey your King. You will do as I say, or you shall face your fate', he used to say with a serious, deadly threatening look in his face and a deep husky voice, just before he and whoever he was talking to stormed in laughter and kept talking about their business, laughing their lungs off.

He hadn't realized until that day that decapitation wasn't a joke but actually a reality. In his young, innocent man, there was no place for the thought of beheading a man and taking his life being even possible. Because killing was wrong…

Being the son of a pacifist, Trent's knowledge about death was very limited. Crime in Derlaven was very low, almost inexistent except for a few poor souls who tried to sneak food from the market. Even that wasn't punished by death or anything violent at all; it was punishable by a small fine which could consist in working for the merchant for some time until the debt was paid, because Donovan understood the poor couldn't afford to pay a fine if they couldn't even pay for a piece of meat. Ever since Donovan started to reign, Derlaven had recovered its grace, its bright, its peace. And of course, there were not sudden attacks or sieges from another kingdom, or anything like that.  
Trent ignored that, in extreme cases, the King held the right to take a man's life if he had committed a far worse crime, such as, say, murder…or be mad.

He was in his mother's womb when the last beheading took place. The man was poor, he lived in the skid row with his pregnant wife. He used to be a lumberjack until one day, in the forest outside the outer wall of Derlaven (the capital city, not the kingdom), he was found and hunt down by a Wolf Pack. His workmates abandoned him, trying to save their lives: most of them got to the city safe and sound, except for two who died in the way.

The woods surrounding the city of Derlaven are better known as The Misty Maze for a reason. It's not impossible to escape, but very unlikely. Only expert rangers of Derlaven's army were able to find a way to go through the woods without getting lost, or staying for a couple of nights at best. From afar, the walls and the castle rose amongst a dense, kilometric land covered by pines and bushy trees. There were many roads that lead to the city's entrance, but if you got lost in the way, soon enough you'd find yourself in the edge of the woods while trying to get back on the road. And the forest was dry and cold, very cold; there weren't many chances of survival. Let alone the creatures that lived in it: wolves, bears, foxes…

And at night, it is impossible to look up to the sky in hopes that stars might guide you home. There is barely space amongst the treetops for the moonlight to seep through. It's dark, very dark, and to make things worse, the mist is so dense that you can't watch your step.

The woods were a deadly trap, and this man had fallen in it. But he survived…he was found agonizing several days later. The lumberjacks had given notice to the army that three men didn't make it outside the woods, so a small crew headed there to find him.  
But when they found the lumberjack, he wouldn't speak. He wouldn't explain what had happened in the forest. He looked troubled and scared, and wouldn't let anyone touch him, claiming that they couldn't damage him. The lumberjack was holding an axe and wouldn't see reason, wouldn't hear the crew. He attacked them. He had gone completely insane. And he managed to kill five men from the rescue crew, plus two citizens who tried to hold him back. He was immediately sentenced to death, since he was a threat to society.

Donovan heard the lumberjack's wife, just about to give birth to a baby, was a sorceress. Now a widow, she didn't have a man to feed her, let alone to love her or to father her child. Feeling bad about how everything turned out, he himself went to the skid row to talk to this woman. She understood what happened couldn't have been solved by any other way, and swore she didn't resent him for the decision he had taken.

Trying to make it up for her, he decided she and her baby would be safe for the rest of their lives, he swore this to the poor woman. Considering that his arcane adviser was very old and wouldn't last much more than a few years, Donovan offered the woman this position. And she proved herself to be a great arcane adviser in the years to come.

Trent stood in the middle of the square, thinking about how to make her forgive him, when he came up with the perfect idea.

_Hello again! Firstly I would like to thank everyone who read the first chapter, especially those who left a review. Thank you so, so much. Your advices and recommendations were very useful and your comments about the story made my day. Here's the second chapter. It's quite longer, but I think you won't get bored. _

_Now allow me to answer a review in Spanish, since the girl who wrote it doesn't have a Fanfiction account —I answered the reviews by PM. __Thanks again! You rock guys!_

_CarmillaD: Gracias por tus palabras3 me alegro mucho de que te haya gustado. Espero que esta continuación sea de tu agrado, tus reviews siempre me alegran el día._

_As always, please let me know if you spot mistakes, I'd really appreciate it._

_Thanks for reading! I hope you're having a lovely day/night. _


	3. Red

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Tom McGillis and Jennifer Pertsch._

* * *

**Chapter three: **_**Red**_

The sun was hiding behind the hills by the time Trent stormed into the gardener's vivarium. The last lights of the day tinged everything in a sort of warm orange: the long rows of all sort of flower species, the giant, hexagonal marble pond in the center of the vivarium, the trees, the bag with dirt, the sack full of manure, the scarecrow made out of old rags and straw on the other side of the garden, where vegetable and fruit plantations grew. The sky had acquired a pinkish tone around the sun, merging towards a lilac and then a light violet as the day was starting to fade away towards the night. He covered his eyes with his hand to try to find the old man around the vivarium, but Yevan, the gardener, wasn't there. He was usually found there, by this time of the afternoon, he would usually see him watering the plants, since the sunset and the sunrise were the ideal times for plants to be watered because if he did it while the sun was up, the water would evaporate.

"My prince", the gardener's helper said to Trent, approaching to him holding a shovel, covered in dirt "yeh're lookin' for Yevan, I take it. He's gone ter the market."

"Scott, my name is Trent" the boy answered in frustration to his old adventure mate, reminding him that he wasn't just the prince, like he did to all of his friends —who, being Trent we speak of, was pretty much all Derlaven. Why did everyone have to call him lord, or prince? Yes, Trent understood he was a prince and everyone was legally obliged to call him for his title rather than his name, in token of respect and admiration for the royalty. But he had told his friends several times that, as long as they were alone, no formalities were required.

Scott was a young man, about sixteen years old, who lived in the Castle's farm helping his uncle Yevan. When he was little and there were no kids around to play (except for the earl Jameson's son, Cody, but he wasn't always up for outdoor activities, which Trent enjoyed very much), he would look for Scott.

He was a crafty little kid, only three years or so older than Trent. Although he had been born in Derlaven City, his parents were from the north, so it was only natural than despite being a derlavenian he spoke with a singular northern accent. He had three siblings, one girl (the youngest of the family) and two brothers, he was the third children and they all looked the same: freckles, cunning blue eyes and bright ginger hair like a carrot. Being the third son he decided to help his uncle, since his father wouldn't teach him to be a smith like him because only the firstborn could continue his work, that one being his older brother Mark. Truth be told, Scott was pretty much a bad choice for a farmer: he could always hear Yevan complain about Scott's mistakes he had to solve.

They met when Trent was five and Scott was eight, when he started to work in Yevan's garden, and they had been friends ever since.

"I know, kiddo" the young man replied, tousling Trent's hair. "Yeh know I give two craps abou'yer crown. Can I help yeh?"

"I think you will do just as well. I was looking for some flowers, I wanted to ask Yevan if he plants Remsedels here."

"What'cha do yeh need remsedels fer? Yeh sick?"

"No, it's just, I need to do someone a present."

"Well yeh could give the girl a paintin' or jewels, yeh can afford that" the ginger man suggested "or I could give yeh a nice bouquet o'lilies, they're prettier. If I was a girl I'd wan' yeh ter give me some nice lilies, not just borin' little remsedels. They're more weed'n flowers" he said, leaving the shovel and taking a basket.

"How did you know I wanted to make a present to a girl?"

"Yeh came ter the vivarium ter get flowers fer a present. Yeh don' get a boy flowers" Scott simply explained to his younger friend, walking towards the vivarium's exit door "I know a bit abou'gettin' flowers fer girls."

"So that's why Yevan's always complaining about flowers going missing" Trent laughed, following Scott to the door.

"The ole man thinks's an ant pest. Don' yeh tell 'im's me, Trent."

"Not a word."

Both Trent and Scott walked out of the vivarium into the outer garden where they cultivated vegetables, fruits, legumes, all sort of food. There was more edible vegetation in the Castle's garden than in any other garden in Derlaven, especially during the summer: the King offered several feasts during the season, such as the Sun Banquet in Summer Solstice, open for everyone in the city of Derlaven, and the Brother Regale, only for the nobility of the two brother realms —Bestand and Glavan— including warlords, lords, earls, dukes, marquis, viscounts and barons, and of course the Royal Family —comprised of the King, the Queen and the princes and princesses. Besides, the Queen often gave birth to her offspring during the summer, so whenever a new child was born they hosted a feast for everyone in Derlaven too, called the Heir Welcoming; and when the children were of enough age, the Crowns Meeting would take place, involving Derlaven's Royal Family and the royalty of a brother realm, with the purpose of arranging a marriage for their sons and daughters. Only nobility was invited to this event.

The Summer Solstice was soon to come and the vegetables and fruits were growing bigger and juicier. Like every year, everyone in the city was looking forward to it, and Trent was no exception.

They walked through the entire garden —a whole hectare of nearly 10,000 square meters, quite long in other words— until they reached the farm gate that lead to a path to the hills. The sun was about to disappear entirely at any second.

"Remsedels are complicated ter grow, buddy", Scott explained to his friend, closing the gate behind him, "they can' grow in a pot y'know? Ole Yevan tried ter grow 'em in the vivarium many timesm but he failed every time. They jus' die, they shrivel up."

They kept walking uphill, following the dirt path.

"So whenever we need remsedels fer ointmen's, Yevan gotta walk up the hill ter ge'em. 's like they can' grow up bounded. They need the open ground I suppose."

Trent thought of Gwen, who was claustrophobic. She needed freedom in order to grow up, to feel free to unveil her true personality, and Trent thought he was one of the lucky ones to have met Gwen as she really was, to have seen her core, her true spirit beneath those dark grey eyes of her.

"Well, here we are buddy. How many o'these yeh need?" Scott asked, kneeling on the ground abounded with red remsedels, picking some off and keeping them in the basket.

"I need to fill the basket" Trent replied naturally, kneeling and picking remsedels too, as his friend watched him shocked by his request.

"Yeh mean...full? Full basket?", Scott asked in surprise.

"That's why I'm helping you" Trent replied making it sound so simple and natural. "Now let's get to it, I've got to be home before the sun comes down."

Scott sighed and helped the prince.

* * *

"Remember you have riding practices tomorrow at sunrise. Don't oversleep."

"I won't Father. Good night" Trent replied to his father from his bed.

"Good night son, I'll see you tomorrow" the King replied before closing Trent's bedroom door.

Trent stood quiet and tried to heighten his hearing: he counted his father's steps downstairs. Three, four, five...they were fading away, until he couldn't hear them anymore. He waited a few more seconds, just in case he was still around. The castle was dead silent. He needed to hurry if he wanted to surprise Gwen: he had planned it carefully. He had heard some mages talking about the time the Initiation began, and he was already running out of time.

His plan was simple: since his bedroom was located in one of the towers, he couldn't climb down out of it, it'd be suicidal considering the 45 feet between his window and the ground. So he would have to go downstairs to the hall between the two towers, which was about seven meters from the ground. Then he would climb down the wall using a rope to the garden, and walk towards the service door which would be open if he hurried.

So he got to it: he got out of his bed and put on an overgown and a pair of turnshoes, he needed to be quick. "Hopefully Gwen won't notice" Trent thought, looking at himself in the mirror, trying to tidy up his hair a bit with his hands. He kneeled beside the big double bed and lifted the heavy blanket so as to get the rope and the basket out of under the bed. Then, he walked slowly towards the door and opened it trying not to make it creak, carefully.

Trent walked down the tower stairs silently, holding a candlestick, looking at the moon outside through the windows. He was finally seeing Gwen doing magic tonight.

He remembered that day when he was with her in the same hills where he had picked up remsedels earlier that day. They were about nine or ten, and he had asked Gwen to perform a magic trick, to which Gwen replied she couldn't do it, and explained to him she wasn't allowed to use her abilities until she was taught how to control and to funnel it, which she was going to be taught at the Sorcerer's Sect once she was thirteen, age considered optimal for the young magicians to learn about what they could do and the possibilities and boundaries of that.

Now the time had come: she was thirteen, and that night was the night of her Initiation.

The castle was dead silent: everyone had gone to their beds after dinner. He supposed his father would be at his desk, talking to officers and sharing a pint like he always did. He walked with caution, down the stairs, until he reached the hall which's windows faced the garden.

He tied the rope to the window frame, making a double knot just in case, and took a deep breath. Deciding not to look down, he took hold of the rope and started to climb down, swinging a bit because of his weight. Slowly, he climbed down; the rope seemed to bear his weight so he took that off of his concerns. Few minutes later he reached the end of the rope, and there were still four feet between him and the ground. He decided to get loose of the rope and try to land on his feet, but he fell on his back.

"Ow!" he couldn't help yelling in pain. He felt something had broken, but when he stood up, the pain began to ease and he forgot about it. He was more concerned about the basket, but it was sealed, so the contents inside were safe. He took some steps to see if he was able to walk, and he was, so he began to walk towards the service door.

Now that was the complicated part. The prince reached the door only to find out it was guarded by two men: this spoiled his whole plan. How was he going to get out now? He looked at the wall and thought about climbing, but it was too high. "Think, Trent, think…"

"Bates and Myers should already be here, man" one of the guards complained. "They're not going to fuck with me. Our shift has ended fifteen minutes ago."

"You're right. This isn't the first time it happens."

"Assholes. Sir Teagan will hear about this, oh he will! I don't know about you, but I'm leaving."

"Yeah, me too. Let's go for drinks?"

"And then we go hunt down the two pieces of shits. Fucking rookies."

Thank the Almighty, Trent thought as the guardsmen left the door. His luck was unbelievable! He hurried to escape the castle: now he needed to get out of the King's Village, go across the Main Square, then enter the Mages Precinct and wait outside the gate of the Sorcerer's Sect's Main Palace, where the young mages stood before the Initiation every year.

Easy peasy.

* * *

He watched dozens of kids of his age approach to the gate in groups from the top of a tree, sitting on a thick branch. Girls and boys talked to each other, nervous about the event they have been waiting for their whole life. Some were excited, as Trent could hear them talking about using their powers to open doors and to lit a fire, while others were very nervous about the whole thing and were calmed down by others. Most of these kids knew each other, they lived in the Mages Precinct. There were rare exceptions of mage kids who were the children of important merchants who lived in the Hightown, and even rarer, two or three kids from the Skid Row, judging by their clothes.

He looked down at the group with jealousy. God he wished he had been born a mage. He could do all of the wicked stuff these kids could do. "Can you imagine? Me, lighting a candle by just whispering something, or snapping my fingers?"...Gwen and him could have some kind of magic battle, and learn new skills together…maybe even fly! Or float in the air…

He found himself thinking bitterly about all of the things he could do if he was a mage —which he sadly wasn't— when he spotted Gwen walking towards the group. But instead of being welcomed, everyone seemed to ignore her, and she just stood there, under that blue gown, waiting until she was told to stand in the line.

She seemed so lonely it made Trent feel sorry for her. He slowly climbed down the tree, landing on his knees this time, and kept himself from complaining about his backache which still remained. He hid behind the trunk, picked up a stone, and threw it to her, hoping it didn't actually hit her. That would be the straw that broke the camel's back after what he had accidentally said to her earlier.

The stone landed close to her, but not close enough, since it didn't catch her attention. He tried throwing another one, but she still didn't notice it. The third attempt fell just between her feet. He saw her looking at it and then trying to find out where it came from, looking at his direction, but didn't seem to see him there.

"Come!" he shouted in low voice, hoping she would hear. Then, Gwen slowly moved towards him.

"What are you doing there? How did you get out of the castle?"

"It doesn't matter...hello" he said to his friend, looking at her. It was hard to see her face under those thick strands of black hair falling over her eyes, and the hood.

"Hello" she replied "Have you come to see the ceremony? Because you know no one can witness it…"

"No, no, that I know" Trent assured Gwen. "I...felt bad for what happened. And I am so sorry. I sincerely didn't think it would…"

He saw the glow in her eyes vanish as her eyelids fell down, looking at him with a sad expression, so he tried to change the subject quickly.

"Anyways...I brought you this. It's a very important night in your life, and I wanted to be part of it...somehow" the prince explained to the mage under the shadow of the tree, holding the basket to her "I can't do magic with you, but at least I can...I don't know, give you a gift or something."

Gwen looked at him, smiling. She seemed truly touched by his words, which made Trent feel a warm sensation in his chest, something he couldn't put in words.

"I've always thought red was your colour", he said as Gwen dropped her jaw to the ground when she opened the basket and found a red gown made of velvet, buried into a ton of remsedels.

She took it out of the basket, holding it in her hands. It felt nice to the touch, she couldn't believe her eyes. It wasn't like her cotton gown was of poor quality, but velvet...that was another thing…

"It was Dinehqa's, but she hasn't used it in a long time, since she grew up and became a woman. She was keeping it in a drawer, I discovered it one day while I was rummaging through her things-eh...whatever, I don't think she'll mind. Do you like it?"

"I love it" Gwen said, unbuttoning her old gown and putting her new one on, without covering her head with the hood. "I love it, so much, thank you" she said happily, hugging Trent all of the sudden. "And you came all the way down here to give it to me...and you filled it with remsedels, there must be a hundred in there…"

He reacted in surprise, they had never hugged before. And it felt nice, just nice. He put his arms around her too, feeling a bit weird about it, but still pleased. She was smaller than him, and so fragile, it felt like he was holding a little kid in his arms.

"Thank you" she whispered in his ear, without letting go of him, "it's beautiful."

Trent just smiled and hugged her tighter, enjoying every bit of it.

* * *

_I just love comparing Gwen to all sort of things, haha. She's just such a great character to work with._

_Hmmm well! Here I am again! I wanted to thank you all for your amazing reviews. 13 reviews for two chapters, now that's something great! Seriously, thank you for your support. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! _

_I made a scheme of Derlaven's City, just so you get an idea of the place: sta. sh/ 07ynli5akm4 I'm thinking about making a detailed profile of the Kingdom, so as to give you a better look into its history and…stuff. I don't know. I have many ideas!_

_And I have also drawn a picture! __gwennieblack. deviantart (dot com) (slash) art/Remsedels-470183250 It pictures a scene from the first chapter, "The Summer and the Winter". Check it out and leave a comment if you're interested and you liked it!_

_Thank you all, see you next time (:_


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